


I want you (no, I mean your art)

by ElisAttack



Series: I want you (no, I mean your art) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Porn, Artist Stiles Stilinski, Atypical Flirting, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Blow Jobs, Derek Uses His Words, Fanart, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Mutual Pining, POV Stiles, Porn Star Derek Hale, Scott is a Good Friend, So many artist references, Stiles has Synesthesia, Stupid Boys, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisAttack/pseuds/ElisAttack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Scott, remember that new encaustic painting I sold last week?"</p><p>"Yeah, why?"</p><p>"Derek Hale's fucking a twink beside it."</p><p>Or the one where Stiles is an artist whose artworks keep appearing in his favourite porn star's videos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by my girlfriend's roommate, a printmaker, who told me over thanksgiving leftovers that once he stumbled upon some amateur gay porn and found one of his art prints above the bed. But he couldn't find the video again to prove it, so who knows if it's true or not? But that's what inspired this, enjoy!

"Congratulations Stiles."  Lydia deadpans over the phone.  "We sold that ridiculous oil painting of yours.  Unbelievable."

Stiles grins, as he holds the phone with his shoulder, pouring acrylic paint out of a tin.  "Told you Lyds.  You should've never underestimated my market value."

"It was a cow.  A pink cow.  In a fucking muumuu.  I think I've lost my faith in this market.  Contemporary art has reached new levels of ridiculousness."

"Nonsense, that's not nearly as insane as Hirst's formaldehyde cows."  Stiles walks over to his studio cart, grabbing a roller, staring down the massive stretched canvas in front of him.  He has plans for this puppy.  Plans involving a puppy, of the Dalmatian variety.

"No more animal paintings."  Damn.  It's like she can read his mind.

Stiles tosses the roller aside so he can hold out the phone, staring at it in accusation. "But it sold."  He whines into the receiver.

"I want you to build a series."  Lydia continues, no nonsense.  "You'll need a stable body of work if we want to raise the value of your art.  If you build your reputation on animal portraits, I'm dropping you from my gallery, no matter how much money you will bring in."

"But I can only paint animals."  Stiles complains.  "I get free models, Scott lets me paint the patients at his clinic."

"But a cow, Stiles, really?"

"I went along for a farm call."  He explains, awe tingeing his voice as he recalls the moment.  "She gave birth to a beautiful calf.  It was biblical."  Stiles says in awe.  "She prolapsed, but you should've seen Scott, he just shoved that uterus back it.  He's a miracle worker."  His best friend is awesome.

"I swear, you paint another animal in a manger I'm going to shove a stiletto into your skull."

Stiles winces.  "Geez, harsh Lyds."

"I'll wire you your share from the sale, go hire a model, or work in abstraction, just try something new.  Okay?"

"Fiiiine."  Stiles sighs, hanging up.  He hates working with models.  The last time the man was anything but professional, going so far as to climb in his lap.  It was a traumatic experience to say the least.  Abstraction, it is.

Stiles looks around his studio, rummaging around for inspiration of some kind, when suddenly he spots the hotplate he uses to heat fast food.  Stiles hasn't worked with wax since school, he might as well see if he's still got it.

A few months later and Stiles' encaustic work is garnering attention, he's being interviewed in indie magazines galore, and once he got a memorable television spot on the morning news.  The morning of he had to scramble around his shop hiding any work that looked even remotely phallic.  There was a lot to hide.

Lydia is extremely pleased with him, and he is with himself.  The animal portraits were always a failsafe, and Stiles is glad he's liberated from them, they were starting to feel overly kitsch.

Stiles is building up a great client base, there are many collectors inquiring after his work, and he's managed to raise the worth of his paintings up a few hundred dollars.  Which means he finally can afford to pay for rent, food _and_ the subscriptions to various porn sites, because while pornhub may be awesome, he likes his banging done in HD.

One site rapidly becomes his favourite.  Hale studios.  Stiles absolutely adores them and their diversity.  They have everything he could ever want, and as a bisexual male, that's a lot.  Everything from girl on girl, to boy on boy, and everything in between.  Stiles is a very happy camper.  They treat porn like nothing he's seen before.  When they add plot, they _really_ add plot.  None of those two minute introductions that get left behind in favor of the fucking.  You can really envision the struggles of the curly haired nymphomaniac pizza delivery boy as he pays his way through college, all the while thoroughly enjoying _servicing_ his customers.  They made a whole series of his misadventures.  Stiles loves it.

However his favorite actor on the site, Derek Hale, doesn't star in videos with plot.  His just go straight to the dicking, and he consistantly uploads a new video biweekly, to Stiles' viewing pleasure.  Stiles absolutely loves those videos, they're so animalistic, and Hale seems so very into it, regardless if he's bottoming or topping.  There's no wonder he one of the most popular actors on the site, no one could possibly think about grocery lists when filming with him.

One night, after a long day in the studio, he logs into the site, and notices the banner on the home page advertising Derek Hale's new video.  Stiles readies himself in excitement, fetching his lube, before clicking on the link.  This is going to be good.

The scene starts like how all of Derek Hale's videos do, with a shot of the couple (sometimes threesome)  making out against a wall like it's their last night on earth.  There's tongue, and teeth, and biting, and _hot damn_.  This is going to be _soo_ good.  Stiles picks of the tube of lube, but before he can click it open the camera shifts just a bit and he sees something that makes him drop the lube, scrambling for the space bar, pausing the scene.

That's his painting.

That's one side of his painting visible in the frame.  He would recognize that style anywhere; the brush strokes, and poured wax.  He sold that exact piece a week ago.

Holy shit.

Lydia is going to be so pissed his work is in gay porn.  Stiles, on the other hand, is perfectly okay with it, porn is awesome and it shouldn't be such a taboo subject, but he figures Lydia might not agree with his sentiments, it all comes down to numbers for her.  Stiles knows he has many heteronormative collectors who might not take so kindly to his work displayed beside two hot men fucking each other's brains out.  Even if Stiles feels just a bit smug about the whole situation.  His favourite porn star knows about his art, Stiles is fucking awesome.

In true Stiles fashion, he feels the need to brag.  He calls up Scott, even though it's one in the morning.

Scott answers the phone, sleepy, words slurring. "Ello?  Stiiiles Whaa?"

"Dude, so I was watching porn and-"

"Please.  Pleeease tell me you didn't wake me up at this ungodly hour because you got another dildo stuck up your ass."  Scott interrupts, incredulously.  Stiles can hear Kira snoring away in the background.  "I told you, helping you with that was a onetime deal.  This time, go to the hospital."

"That was in highschool before I knew about the importance of flared bases.  The American sexual education system truly is lacking."

"While I strongly agree with your political views, TMI,  Stiles.  TMI."  Scott whines.  "Now, I'm going to hang up unless you tell me what you want."  He threatens.

"Wait, wait!  Remember that new encaustic painting I showed you last week?"

Scott sighs.  "Yeah, why?"

"Derek Hale is fucking a twink beside it."

"I'm sorry?"  Scott asks, puzzled.  He obviously has no idea who Derek Hale is, which makes perfect sense since Scott is straight as an arrow.

"Don't be, it's awesome."  Stiles grins, staring at the paused video on the screen.

There's nothing but silence over the line for a few moments.  "Yeaaaah, I'm going to hang up now."

"Sure, later dude.  See you at brunch on Saturday."  Stiles smiles, eyes tracing happily over his painting in true HD quality.

Scott makes a noncommittal noise, hanging up.

Stiles is awesome.  And Derek Hale seems to agree because he does almost everything _but_ fuck the twink on Stiles' painting.  The work is always in the shot, the camera pans over it whenever it can, basically Hale treats it like it's an actor in the film, not just another prop.  He even credits Stiles in the end, and he gasps when he sees his artistic pseudonym pop up on the screen. 

Wow, Derek Hale has such a workplace crush on Stiles' art. 

It inspires him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will post the second half after midterm week, so Saturday.
> 
> Research for my pirate AU is kicking my ass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! Midterms are the spawn of the devil! I promised you guys Saturday, and I wanted to make the fic longer, but I'm a slow as fuck writer when it comes to fiction, so sorry bout that.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be a 2000 word crack fic, but since it got such a wow!za response (100 kudos in 24 hours ~ holy shit!) I expanded on some ideas, and added some feelings and porn of the Sterek variety, enjoy peeps!

Scott and Kira drive by midmorning to pick up Stiles for brunch, a weekly Saturday tradition they've kept since moving to LA after college graduation.  Stiles' Jeep is still in the shop after an unfortunate incident involving a hot cup of double shot espresso and his console.  As in the coffee fell on his console and now every time he starts up the Jeep the interior smells like a crusty old 99 cent coffee shop. 

It's awful.  Almost as awful as Scott's second hand Civic with the questionable white stain in the upholstery that's been there since before Scott bought the sputtering beast.  Stiles knows it's jizz, there's a similar stain in the carpet of his childhood bedroom.  But so long as Stiles never has to drive the car, Scott will remain blissfully unaware he's sitting on someone else's dried fun times.  Call it revenge for four years worth of bad masturbatory puns when freshman year, Scott caught him spanking the monkey to Patrick Swayze in Roadhouse.

And that's the story of how he came out as an equal opportunist to his best friend.

Brunch at IHOP is always brilliant.  Stiles gets the Belgian waffles every single time, scarfing them down in record time.  He's patting his full stomach, listening to Kira rave about a new katana she added to her collection, when Stiles sees someone he'd recognize anywhere out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh shit."  Stiles ducks under the table.  Right there, taking to the hostess was Derek fucking Hale.  The man Stiles spends blissful nights jacking off to.  The guy who all but fucked a man on Stiles' painting.  What if he recognizes Stiles from that one television interview he did on the morning news?  What if, god forbid, he wants to talk to Stiles?  He's had collectors come up to him in public before.  He has no doubt that scenario could only end in tears, Stiles would be reduced to nothing but a blubbing mess in front of those beautiful biceps.  Biceps which are now crossing in front of massive pecs as the hostess probably tells him the restaurant is full.

"Stiles!"  Scott whispers sharply.  "What are you doing?"  Kira looks amused as she watches him, chewing her French toast.

"Avoiding an awkward situation."  He explains, crouching further under the table, the tops of his styled hair disappearing from view.  Scott sighs and joins him under the table.  Kira crawls right under after Scott, bringing her plate with her.  "Thanks guys."  His friends are the best.

"Okay, so what's going on, and why are we having brunch on the restaurant floor?"  Scott asks like he would be seriously worried about Stiles' sanity if he didn't pull shit like this often enough.

"I don't know about you, Scott, but it's kind of nice down here.  Very quiet, peaceful.  It could use a few candles, it would be very romantic."  Kira gets this _glint_ in her eye.

"Kira!"  Stiles exclaims. "I refuse to be sexiled from brunch.  No boning under the table."

She pouts, and takes another bite of toast.

"Stiles..."  Scott demands in his Melissa McCall voice.

"Derek Hale's here."

"Wait.  The twink guy?"  Scott questions.

"Whoa, I never would've thought twinky was your type."  Kira grins.  "Don't you think that's a little too close to home?"

"Hey!  I have some muscles."  Kira raises an eyebrow.  "And for your information, he isn't a twink.  He just fucks them."

"Ahem."  A throat clears, and Stiles notices three extra pairs of legs standing in the aisle.  He looks out from under the tablecloth to the blonde hostess, a pretty brunette woman, and Derek Hale in all his glory staring down at him with emotions ranging from disbelief to absolute incredulity.  "I'm sorry sir, I thought this table was empty."  The hostess frowns.  "But if you aren't eating you'll have to leave."

Stiles ignores her in favor of staring at the magnificence that is Derek Hale in person.  Whoa, his eyebrows are so unreal in reality.  Like tiny caterpillars eating his face.  Wait.  Now that's an idea...

Kira peeks out beside him, her plate still in hand.  "I'm still eating."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry but you can't eat on the floor."  The hostess stares wide eyed, surprised that more people keep popping out from the depths of hell, but the brunette woman grins toothily.

"They're enjoying their unorthodox brunch, let them."  She turns to the hostess.  "We can wait a bit longer." 

"But Laura, I'm hungry now, and they're insane."  Derek whispers to the woman, his black caterpillars dip even further, as he makes eye contact with Stiles, before quickly looking away.

"Crazy people need to eat too, Der-bear."  Derek scowls at the nickname, and turns, stalking away.  "Have fun, kids."  The woman named Laura calls, chasing after Derek.

At least he didn't recognize Stiles.

"Seriously, you guys need to try this toast, it's fucking delicious."  Kira states, cradling the plate to her chest.

Stiles drops his head into his hands, sighing.

***

"What the fuck is this!?"  Lydia shrieks.  After brunch, Stiles had Scott drop him off at his studio to work on a Derek Hale eyebrow inspired painting, and now two weeks and a thousand cups of coffee later, he's standing in the Martin-Whittemore gallery, presenting his new work to Lydia.

"They're caterpillars."

"I can fucking see that.  But why are you giving me caterpillars, Stiles, why?"  Lydia bemoans as she stares up at Stiles' new masterpiece.  A massive encaustic abstraction, except it's not really abstract since the caterpillars, chewing up an indiscernible face, are quite discernable. 

"It's my ode to Derek Hale."

"Jesus.  Who is this man, and why do you hate him so much?  Why can't you just paint something tasteful?"  Lydia frustrates.

Stiles hums.  "Now that I think about it, it does seem just a bit offensive."  Stiles studies the painting.  "He's not only known for his expressive eyebrows."

"Thank you."  Lydia sighs.

"I can't forget his magnificent penis."

"No.  Oh lord, please no."  Lydia begs him, her eyes wide.

"Hell yes!"

"I will end you if you give me a penis!" 

The bell above the door rings.  "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."  A feminine voice calls out from the entrance.  Lydia whips around so fast Stiles can hear her neck crack.  No wonder she needs all those chiropractic appointments.  Ouch.

Lydia's personality takes a fast 180 as she transforms from she-devil into strict businesswoman.  "Hello and welcome.  I'm Lydia Martin, is there anything I can help you with?"  She smiles jovially at the gorgeous blonde woman making her way across the concrete floor.  "Catalogues are by the front desk, but unfortunately we don't have any exhibitions currently installed."

The woman smiles at them.  "I'm looking for a specific artist."  She points to Stiles painting.  "And this looks like his style.  Unfortunately he hasn't updated his website in a while,"  Lydia glares at Stiles.  She hates it when he doesn't post progress updates on his website. "I was hoping you'd have more information on his work."

"The artist you're talking about is Spark, yes?"  Lydia asks.

The woman nods.

"Well you're in luck."  Lydia grins like a snake, while Stiles reaches out to poke her in the side, he does not want to talk to a collector today, let alone a busty blonde who looks like she would gladly eat him alive.  "The artist is here today."  Lydia ignores his pokes, gesturing to Stiles standing beside her.

The blonde's eyes widen, before her smile sharpens.  "You're a cute one, aren't you?"  Stiles can feel himself turn a violent shade of red.  Her smile widens even more.  "Is this one for sale?"  She nods to the caterpillar painting.

Lydia joins in.  "I still have to catalogue the piece, but once that's done I can get in touch with you about pricing, Ms...?"

"Reyes."  The woman offers her hand to Lydia, and then Stiles to shake.  "Erica Reyes."  She reaches into her purse, and draws out two business cards for the both of them.  Stiles shoves his card carelessly into his back pocket, fully aware it'll be nothing but a blob at the end of laundry day.  "I expect that phone call soon, Ms. Martin.  My client is extremely interested in Spark's work.  He would be very disappointed if someone else bought this piece."

"I'll be sure to keep in touch, and I believe Spark here was going to update his website today, weren't you?"  Lydia grinds her heel into Stiles' toe.

"Yes!"  Stiles squeaks, relenting.  "I have some pictures of my studio works in progress I can post."

"Good."  Ms. Reyes states.  "My client will be pleased."  She glances down at her wristwatch.  " I have a few appointments I need to keep, but it was nice meeting you, Ms. Martin, _Spark_."

"You too."  Lydia smiles, Stiles knows she's always happy to make a sale.

"By the way,"  Ms. Reyes winks at Stiles.  "You can give me a penis anytime.  My client won't mind a bit.  In fact, he's sure to love it."  She laughs, striding confidently out of the gallery.  Leaving Lydia with her mouth hanging open.              

Stiles turns to Lydia, smug, but before he can say anything, she places her finger over his mouth, silencing him.  "Don't say a goddamn word."

***

Lydia oversees the sale of the encaustic with Ms. Reyes.  Because her client wanted the piece, Lydia managed to demand more money, and in the end it becomes Stiles' biggest sale. 

Lydia fabricated the existence another collector in Japan willing to fork over the big bucks to purchase Stiles work, even though there was no such person.  Ms. Reyes was skeptical, of course, but her client was unwilling to take a chance and lose the painting, so he gave into Lydia's demands.

Which is why Stiles is at the bank, staring disbelievingly at the teller as she asks him whether he wants to cash out the extra seven grand in his bank account.  At the most, his paintings sell for four grand on a good day, and that's not including gallery fees and Lydia's dealer cut.  "Seriously?  Seven thousand?  Not seven hundred?"

The teller frowns, and looks back at her monitor,  "No sir, it's seven thousand."

Stiles nods.  "Let me get back to you on that, just pay off my credit card bill.  My internet's down,"  Stiles shrugs.   "You know how it is."

"Yes sir."  She smiles fakely, like she's humoring him, types some things into the system, makes Stiles sign a receipt, and he's out of there.  Stiles calls Lydia as he walks over to his now espresso-less Jeep.

Lydia picks up on the eighth ring.  "What, Stiles?  I'm busy."

 "Have I ever told you that you're an amazing dealer?"  A woman with a young child sends him a sharp glare, steering her kid far away from him.

"No! I mean art dealer, not drug dealer, art!"  He calls after the woman but she ignores him placing her hands over the kid's ears.

He can hear Lydia laughing at him.

"Oh shut up."  He moans, if this was Beacon Hills the gossip mill would've churned away, and his father would've been _so_ pissed.  He's glad he lives in LA.

She laughs at Stiles' expense.  "Jackson sends his regards." 

"Tell him exactly where he can shove it."

"Oh honey, you know exactly where he shoves it."  Lydia can be such a prude when it comes to art, but she's utterly crude when it comes to her personal life.  One time she gave him a terrifyingly detailed description of the night she pegged Jackson.  Stiles learned some things he never wished to know about Jackson's butt.

"Oh, and Ms. Reyes wanted me to tell you her client enjoyed the updates you posted to your website."

"You mean the dicks?"  Stiles asks as he climbs into his Jeep.  

"You didn't.  Stiles!"  See, suddenly prude.

"Ms. Reyes said she's fine with it."

"She isn't your only patron.  You have others.  Quite a few straight middle aged men, in fact."  Lydia argues.

"Yeah, but those men aren't forking over seven grand for some random piece involving caterpillars."

Stiles hears murmuring over the line, and Lydia sighs heavily.  "Jackson says I should be happy someone is willing to pay money for your eccentricities."

"And he would be right.  For once."  Stiles grins.

When he arrives back home to his apartment, he finds the internet up and running again, rendering his trip to the bank pointless.  If only Stiles wasn't the sort of person to put off paying his bills until the day they are due, he wouldn't have these problems.  Unfortunately Stiles is a procrastinator with a capital P.

Logging onto his email he finds his inbox full of messages, he scrolls through the notifications from Spark's website, apparently traffic increased tremendously since his last posting.

He notices an email from Hale studios.  Clicking on it, Stiles is informed that Derek Hale recently posted a new video on the site.  Christmas has truly come early.  The link takes him to the home page, where he logs in.

The film starts with Derek biting and nuzzling into the neck of yet another twink.  The decor in the video is standard minimalist, lots of white, and sharp lines.  Stiles is disappointed to see his painting doesn't make an appearance.  It's a different room than the last video, so the painting probably remained in that particular set.  Stiles is not ashamed to admit he's disappointed his work isn't a prop in this video too.

Stiles runs his fingers up and down his chest, slowly unbuttoning his plaid shirt.  He softly touches his neck, exactly how Derek runs his large fingers over the twink's long neck.  His fingers dip into the twink's mouth and both Stiles and Derek groan.  Suddenly Derek picks up the boy, tossing him over his shoulder, and moves to another part of the set, the bed.  Here we go, Stiles unbuttons and unzips his pants, ever so slowly.  Trailing his thumb over the bulge in his briefs.

Derek tosses the twink down and he bounces up and down giggling.  Stiles can feel himself crack a smile too.  See, this is why he likes Hale studios, they make damned adorable, yet sexy videos, it's no wonder they keep winning adult video awards.  The camera focuses on Derek as he climbs into the bed after the boy, pulling off his sweatpants with a grace reserved for someone who does this a lot.  Stiles gasps, of course he's going commando.  Derek moves the twink up to the headboard, and the camera pans up above them.

Stiles' eyes bug out of his head.  That's the caterpillar painting that just made him seven grand richer.  It's hanging right above the bed where some hot and raunchy things are about to go down.

Holy shit.  Erica Reyes' client is Derek fucking Hale, the porn star who likes his art so much he paid a premium for it.

Stiles would laugh if he wasn't so shocked.  Derek probably doesn't even know the painting was inspired by his impressive eyebrows.

But even Stiles can admit that particular painting is the furthest thing from sexy, but Derek seems to like it, turning his co-star around to face it while he thrusts into him, all the while staring up at it as if he's trying to find the meaning of life and the universe in the swirling encaustic shapes.  Like whoa, do you guys need a separate room or something?  It's like he wants to bone Stiles' art.

Well then.  Stiles just got the best idea ever. 

Jesus, Derek is like his muse, his Victorine Meurent to Stiles's Édouard Manet, not that Stiles is Manet, or Derek, a voluptuous Victorian lady.  It's simply the concept of the matter.  Stiles gets the best ideas whenever he sees the man.

Stiles watches the video, ideas thrumming away in his brain, as he touches himself to Derek pounding hard and fast.  He's so deep in thought, hand moving, stripping his dick just on the side of too dry, he comes much quicker than he usually would.  It surprises him, and he doesn't have the presence of mind the catch the release in his palm like he usually would.  When cleaning himself up Stiles sighs as he notices come splattered on his laptop screen.  That was a messy, but amazing orgasm.  Ah-may-zing.

Later in the afternoon, he drops by Blick and picks up supplies perfect for making moulds and casting.

In the beginning he has an idea of what he wants to make, but no idea on how to implement it.  He consults the Google gods, and the internet deems it unsafe to cast one's own erect penis in silicone.  He follows the well earned advice of people with burns on their dicks and drives over to his neighborhood friendly sex shop, buying two clone-a-willy kits, to the raised eyebrow of the woman working the counter.

"It's for an art piece."  Stiles frowns at her judgy face.

She scoffs, looking up and down his body.  "I should hope so, I doubt your girlfriend would miss your tiny dick enough to use its dildo twin."

Stiles blushes.  He's average, okay?  Average.  Plus, nobody likes monster cocks in reality.  He frowns at the woman.  "Shouldn't you be nicer to customers?"

She scans the barcode.  "Not for minimum wage I shouldn't."  Well, can't argue with that logic.

"Good luck, Paul McCarthy."  The woman calls out to him when he leaves, brown bag in hand.

In the end it's a good thing he buys two kits.  He gets the timing completely wrong and futzes up on his first try.  It's hard (heh, hard) to stay erect with one's penis marinating in sticky goo as aforementioned sticky goo hardens.  Stiles gets it right on his second try, and there may or may not be victory dancing with Stiles' bobbing erection being an active participant.

It's a good thing Stiles closed the blinds or the kind lesbian couple in the building across from him would be getting an extremely unwanted dinner and show.

Next, Stiles casts the alginate mold in silicone and he's is left with a perfect copy of his averagely sized dick.  Awesome.  He'll take the cast to his studio to work on the piece further the next chance he gets.

A few days later while Stiles is busy attaching paste stones to the silicone dick, an fellow artist in Stiles' collective drops by for a studio visit.

"Hey, Malia how's it going?"  He calls out to the brunette woman wearing an excess of mismatched patterns.

"That's a penis."  She stares at the sculpture taking shape on his work table.

"No, it's a statue."  Stiles frowns at the tiny woman standing at his shoulder.

"It's a statue of a penis."  Malia corrects herself.

"No, it's a statue _based_ on a penis."

"It's nice."  She nods, staring at it.  Stiles thinks that's the first time someone's told him his penis is nice, all those other times his dick wasn't as bedazzled as it is now, and at the most he had a glow in the dark condom on.  These stones literally _glint_ when the light falls on them.

"Aw, thanks dude."

"I love your concept.  Some might say it's very Damien Hirst, but I disagree, you're using paste semi-precious stones, not real ones."  She hums.  "Your commentary on the subject of the plastic falseness of Hollywood and the porn industry is outstanding."  She claps him on his shoulder.  "Good job Stiles.  Your art's finally growing up.  Welcome to the big leagues."  She laughs. 

He grins at her.  "Lydia's going to be so pleased."

"I highly doubt that.  It's still a penis, Stiles, not matter how many shiny things you stick on it."

Stiles pouts.  "Yeah, but I got a frequent buyer after my work, and I feel like he's going to love this piece, Lydia can't say no to that logic."

Malia smiles, looking off into the distance.  "What I would give for a steady collector.  The ones supporting me are so fickle.  One week I can barely make rent, the next I'm rolling in the green stuff."

"It's a struggle, sister."  Stiles fist pumps her.

Stiles finishes the piece in record time, what can he say?  When he's invested in something he's very efficient.  And boy is he ever invested, his bejeweled dick sculpture is gorgeous, if he does say so himself.  He can't wait to see if Derek features it in his next video.

Lydia admits, very reluctantly, that it's a well thought out piece.  So much so, she includes it in the gallery's next exhibition, _Sexuality Redefined_.  Stiles thinks it's a wonderful coincidence, and surprising, considering Lydia's prudeness. 

Ms. Reyes calls, inquiring about the new piece Stiles mentioned working on in a post to his site, to which Lydia claims Derek could only buy the sculpture when the month is up and the show is over.  Stiles may be a bit disappointed he has to wait that long to see if and how Derek features Stiles' dick in his video.

Thankfully Lydia doesn't make Stiles do another interview in preparation for the exhibit.  There's a reason why he uses a pseudonym instead of his real name, and it involves avoiding the pretentious people in the art world like the plague.  There's nothing worse than a collector coming up to him to discuss something that should've remained behind in the curatorial classes he took in art school. 

Stiles makes art the way he wants, and he hates thinking too much about it.  He leaves that to Lydia.

Stiles especially hates it when people bring his personal life into the matrix.  He once made the mistake of telling his professor about how his combined ADHD and synesthesia contributed largely to how he saw the world.  It's difficult for people to understand that ADHD was not a blessing for him but a weighty curse.  It spawned a childhood full of an endless parade of doctors, and teachers complaining about him to his mother, before he was diagnosed with synesthesia too.

He remembers a conversation he had with a collector, when he was still fresh out of school.  The man totally shut him down when he said he has synesthesia like Kandinsky, except where Kandinsky heard sound when he saw images, stiles saw weird shit in the world around him.  He walks down the street, and suddenly Mrs. Lawson turns a violent shade of pink, or Mr. Luo's toupee turns into his dog. 

The man asked Stiles if he was always on LSD.  It was fucking embarrassing.

Stiles can't stand it when people talk about him like that.  But he doesn't mind it so much when they do the same of Spark.  His artistic persona isn't really him, and it doesn't really matter.

So, he skips opening night, leaving his apartment and studio just in case Lydia sends someone to look for him.  He camps out at his local hole in the wall pub, while Scott sends him text and picture updates every few minutes.  Both him and Kira love being 'cultural'.  It just so happens that being 'cultural' involves going to art openings.  They go in place of Stiles, spying on what people say about his work, and reporting it back to him.  It's great.  Stiles gets awesome feedback from fellow artists, but without all the brown nosing and snuffling he associates with collectors.

His phone dings with another message just as he takes another sip of the hard wrought ale he was IDed for, even though at 25, he is very much allowed to legally intoxicate himself.  Scott swears it's his Bambi eyes. 

He unlocks the phone to a picture message, this time from Kira, with the caption " _Hey lookie, it's brunch boy, dammmn he so fine in that suit_."  Stiles frowns, brunch boy? 

Stiles quickly downloads the picture to find an image of Derek Hale in a charcoal suit, a flute of champagne in hand.  God, it's like the start of some of Stiles' dirtiest fantasies.  Kira just needs to send Stiles an image of Derek performing a strip tease to duplicate the dream he had only a few nights ago. 

Derek's standing beside Ms. Reyes, whispering in her ear as they both look at Stiles' bedazzled dick on a plinth.  He's got this wide smile on his face, his eyes crinkling with its ferocity.  Ms. Reyes looks like she's humoring him, her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. 

Stiles grins.  See, he knew Derek would like the sculpture.  Stiles loves it when people appreciate his art, even more so when Derek admires his art, since he is hottest man Stiles has ever seen.  It feels like unicorns and rainbow kittens are running around inside his heart, he's so happy. 

Stiles almost regrets missing out on his opening.  He can picture Derek sliding up to Lydia with smooth grace and finesse, to inquire about a missing Spark.  Lydia would shake her head, sigh, and lie, saying Stiles is in bed with a cold.  Stiles can imagine the look of disappointment crossing Derek's face. 

Stiles sits at the pub, stirring his cold ale with a finger, pouting, and wishing he could be there.  For once he wants to talk to someone who isn't a fellow artist about his work.

He glooms until his phone dings again with a picture from Scott, and suddenly he's glad he's not at the gallery.  He winces when he sees the picture of Deucalion, a collector.  The last time Stiles went for an opening Deucalion pinched Stiles' butt bruisingly, and propositioned him.  Even if the concept of a threesome with his wife, Kali, was a tempting idea, Deucalion himself was just too creepy to have sex with.  He is a well known collector of macabre art, displaying them in his upstate New York mansion in plain sight.  Stiles has seen pictures.  No one's home should look like his does.

 _Let me guess,_ Stiles texts to Scott, _he's there for the BDSM stuff._

Scott answers in record time, he knows exactly how much Deucalion creeps Stiles out, he was there, standing right beside Stiles, the day Deucalion defined the phrase bad touch.  _Is he ever!  I think he's drooling over some illustrations of Sade's Justine.  And now I feel gross and uncomfortable._

 _You and me both, buddy._ Stiles shudders.  He thinks it's time to go home now.  The night is almost over and Lydia is unlikely to send the cavalry over so late, so Stiles packs up and pays his tap.  He walks the short distance back to his apartment, a little bit tipsy.

It's only when he's putting the key into the lock that he notices his phone ringing.  The caller ID identifies Scott, so he picks up.  He's hit with a massive wall of sound as he puts the phone to his ear, it almost hurts.  Openings are not usually so loud, something big must be happening.  "Scotty, buddy, what's going on?"

He can hardly make out Scott's reply over the din.  "Holy shit!  Brunch Boy just punched out Deucalion!"

"He did what?!"  Stiles questions, his eyes bugging out.

"I think Deucalion's still smarting over your rejection.  He was talking smack about your piece, calling your artistic self a whore and your dick predictable."  Wow, Stiles appreciates Scott's wording, he really does.  "Brunch Boy was standing nearby, and you should've seen the look on his face-"  Scott cuts off suddenly.

"Scott?"

Apparently Kira took the phone from Scott because she answers.  "He looked like he was gonna punch a bitch!  And then he did just that!"  She laughs at an ungodly pitch, Stiles can feel his ears popping, damn does he ever love this psychotic woman.  "Wham, right in the kisser."

Scott takes the phone back from his girlfriend.  "Yes, thanks babe."  Stiles can hear the discernable sound of lips smacking.  Eww.  Scott lips.  "Well you heard her, Stiles."

"What happened to Derek?"  Stiles asks, worried.  Lydia doesn't take kindly to people stirring up shit in her gallery.

Scott pauses.  "Wait.  How do you know his name?"

"He's Derek Hale, remember?  I told you about him."  Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Dude, that was at like one in the morning, you can't expect me to remember that.  But seriously, Brunch Boy's your Derek Hale?  The porn star?"

Stiles pouts.  "He isn't mine." 

Scott scoffs.  "Man, you could ask him to suck your dick and he'd probably do it kindly.  He got himself kicked out for you.  Security is escorting him out as we speak, his consultant looks so pissed."  Scott shudders.  Stiles doesn't blame him, Ms. Reyes eats the bones of weak men for breakfast.  "Deucalion's out cold on the concrete floor, and I think Lydia plans on leaving him there."

Stiles smiles, he remembers Lydia telling him Deucalion propositioned her once too, but in a much more forward manner.  She never forgets when someone wrongs her.  Ever.  She can hold such a vicious grudge, and boy, does she ever like to collect.  "Derek doesn't even know what I look like, he just admires my art, and I'd do the exact same thing for him if someone dissed his awesome porn.  Seriously Scott, if you every decide you want to taste the other team, watch his videos." 

Scott fake gags.  "Bro, hell no.  But, really, are you sure you he doesn't know you?  He totally wolfed out on Deucalion's ass." 

Stiles frowns.  "He never recognized me at brunch, so I'm pretty damned sure."  Stiles' goes over his memories of brunch, Derek had glanced right at him, but not even a flicker of recognition passed over his face.

"He must be in love with your art then, because that level of smackdown is reserved for significant others."  Scott affirms.

Stiles sighs, Derek's just another collector who wants Spark, not Stiles, but it's not as if he can complain about the unfairness of the situation.  It's not like he knows who Derek is as a person just because he watches his porn.  The man could be a Trekkie for all he knows, he could like long walks on the beach, and stuffing puppies into wood chippers for kicks.   Stiles knows as well as the next person that his art doesn't define him as a person, and neither does Derek's.  So Stiles knows he can't throw stones, but that doesn't stop him from feeling bitter as fuck.

It's two weeks later from the disaster that was opening night hell, and Stiles is babysitting the gallery while Lydia's out at a chiropractic appointment.  It's her way of collecting after Stiles was a no show.

The radio's on full blast, and Stiles is having a moment with the Swiffer.

"I want yooou.  _Ba ba ba ba_.  I want you so baaad, it's driving me mad.  It's driving me maaad!"  Stiles sings obnoxiously out of tune along with John Lennon.  He thrusts his hips side to side with the beat, as he swiffs the concrete.  Stiles cleans when he's bored, it's a curse.

He performs a turn, and drips the Swiffer down in a low swoop.  She's such a lovely lady, he can't help himself, his own Yoko Ono.  When he looks up from the dip, Derek Hale himself is staring right back at him from the gallery entrance, eyes wide as saucers.  Stiles drops Yoko with a clatter, running over to the stereo, turning down the blasting music.  He hopes Lydia doesn't get any sound complaints, he didn't even hear the bell ding.  Stiles doesn't want yet another thing held over his head.  He turns to face Derek again, a wide smile plastered on.  "Hi there welcome to the Martin-Whittemore gallery.  What can I do you for?"  Stiles gulps.  "I mean, do for you?"

"Uh yeah.  Umm.  Ms. Martin said I was banned for two weeks, and it lifts today.  I wanted to see Spark's piece."  Holy, Derek Hale is a mumbler, it's so fucking adorable.  Stiles holds his giggle in, but just barely.

Stile points to the back of the gallery where his bedazzled dick is on display.  "It's right there, man."

Derek nods his head, and flounders over.  He doesn't walk like he does in his videos, he has absolutely no grace in reality.  He's kind of a dork.  Stiles follows behind him over to the sculpture, he really wants to see Derek's reaction again.   Stiles might be a little bit addicted to appreciation directed at his art.  "Do you like Spark's work?"  Stiles asks smiling.

Derek smiles.  "Yeah, he's my favourite artist.  I saw one of his first encaustics and just knew, you know?  His work just makes me feel so much."  Stiles feels heat rise to his face, but he staves it off.

They both look at the bedazzled dick in awkward silence, before Derek clears his throat, blushing.  "I remember you." 

"Huh?"  Stiles asks.

"Umm, you were eating brunch under the table at IHop with your friends."

"Huh?"  Derek remembers him.  Whoa.

"I'm sorry I was rude to you guys."  He apologizes.  "I thought you were cute, and I was nervous."  If possible he blushes even harder.

"Huh."  Great, Stiles has been reduced to neanderthal speak, no wonder why he never gets laid.

"It's okay if you don't remember me."  Derek turns away to face the sculpture.

"Shit!  No I remember you alright."  Stiles gulps.  "It's just you're kind of very hot, and, umm, urg.  I'm sorry but words are failing me right now."

Stiles can see Derek's smile rising amid his heavy blush.  "You're really funny."

Well, that's a first.  "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome."  How the hell is Stiles supposed to breach the elephant in the room, he can't be all like, 'oh yeah, Derek, I remember you alright, I spank the monkey to you fucking other people all the time.  Your porn is so damned good, it's an addiction.'

"Umm, do you want to get coffee sometime?"  Derek asks.

"Really?!"  Stiles is shocked.  Derek Hale just asked him out.  On a date.  Or at least he thinks it's a date, he could be inviting him out to talk about Spark.

"You don't have to say yes if you don't want to."

"No I just mean, you're kind of you."

"Yes.  I am?"  Derek furrows his brow.  Hey look, caterpillars.

"I mean, you're easily a ten, and I'm a seven on a good day."  Stiles explains.

Derek frowns at him, crossing his arms.  "I don't think you realize just how hot you are."

Stiles swallows.

"Coffee?  Yes or no?"

"Yes."  Stiles squeaks.

Derek smiles smugly, just as the bell rings.  Stiles glances at the entrance, only to find Ms. Reyes looking back at him with what can only be described as a predatory smirk on her face.  Stiles shivers.

"Erica."  Derek calls out to her.  "You didn't have to come today, I told you I only wanted to look at it, I can't buy it just yet."

She scoffs.  "Derek, knowing you, you'd bribe the curator and just run off with it.  Speaking of, where is the curator now?"

Derek rolls his eyes.  "He's right here."  He points to Stiles.

"Uh, Lydia's at an appointment."  He answers Ms. Reyes.  He turns to Derek.  "I'm just watching the gallery for her.  If you want to purchase anything you'll have ask her when she comes back."  Stiles explains.

Derek looks puzzled.  "Are you her assistant then?"

Erica laughs.  "Are you kidding me?  Derek, that's your favourite artist.  That's Spark."

Derek turns wide eyes to him.  Stiles waves half heartedly.  "Hi, I'm Stiles, also known as Spark." 

Derek looks like he's about ready to faint, he's got a green tinge to his pallor.  Derek's face runs through a variety of emotions before it blanks and he marches around Stiles and Ms. Reyes.  And walks right out the door. 

"That man needs to learn how to use words."  Ms. Reyes sighs, shaking her head.  "Anyway.  When will Lydia be back?"

"Three."  Stiles answers hollowly.

"Great."  She walks out right after Derek.

What the fuck just happened?

Stiles mopes until Lydia comes back, and he leaves right after he tells her Ms. Reyes came by, he doesn't mention Derek.  Stiles needs to stew for a bit before he acknowledges that colossal fuck up to anyone.  He doubts Derek even wants his art now, let alone a coffee date with him.  He didn't even get his number.  Dammit.

He broods until Saturday comes around, and before he knows it he's at IHop at his usual brunch table.  Both Kira and Scott notice his foul mood, and try to get him to talk about it, but Stiles refuses.  It still smarts a bit. 

Who's he kidding?  It feels like someone shanked him in the gut.  He can't even get off anymore, he always thinks of Derek, and the guilt makes him flag.  It fucking sucks.

Stiles is poking at his Belgian waffles while Kira and Scott exchange worried looks whenever they think he can't see them.  It's humiliating, to say the least, and he's not feeling even remotely hungry.  This isn't what a crush feels like, it's way more than that, it's like he lost a friend.  He can just imagine telling his Dad now, 'Hey Pops, guess what?  I'm fucking depressed because the man I admire hates my fucking guts.'

He's just about ready to call it a day and leave early, when Scott nudges him across the table.  Stiles looks up from his food to see his best friend nod at something over Stiles' shoulder.  "This is sure to cheer you up, look at who it is."

Stiles turns around expecting to see a friend, or someone else he's acquainted with, but instead he sees Derek Hale standing sullenly at the reservation podium, while Laura argues with the hostess.  It's such a parallel to the last time he ran into Derek at brunch he feels like laughing morbidly.

Suddenly, Derek's eyes flash up to his, and he stares at Stiles with an unreadable expression on his face.  It almost looks like longing, but that's impossible, he took off like a jackal when he found out Stiles' real identity, like Stiles wasn't what he had in mind when he pictured Spark.  Stiles can feel his face fall, and he sees Derek's eyes widen.

Laura throws her hands up in the air, sticking her middle finger up at the hostess, before grabbing Derek by the arm, breaking his eye contact with Stiles as she drags them over to their table, the hostess trailing after them simpering.  "Ma'am wait.  We don't have any free tables right now."

"I told you, I don't want a bloody table!  I just want my brother to grow a fucking pair."

"But, Ma'am!"  Laura leaves the hostess in the dust.  The siblings reach their table in record time and Stiles is left staring wide eyed at the one person who could do anything but cheer him up.

Stiles and Derek would've probably remained staring at each other for eternity if Laura didn't jab Derek right in the gut, and he doubles over in pain.  "You have words, fucking use them."

"I'm sorry."  Derek babbles at Stiles.  "I shouldn't have run away, but I was so scared.  I admire you so damn much, and it was a bit overwhelming, knowing just how attracted I am to you, both physically and mentally."

Stiles is lost for words.  Derek likes him?  Stiles' face must be completely unreadable because Laura turns her impressive glare on him, asking.  "Well?  My brother wants to do all sorts of nasty things to you." And that image makes Stiles go a bit cross-eyed.  "What do you have to say?" 

"I love your porn."  Stiles blurts out.  He hears quite a few outraged gasps, and he can feel the shocked eyes of the families in the restaurant boring deep into his soul. 

Derek turns an impressive shade of red.  "Oh, you know about that.  Okay."

"Are you freaked out?"  Stiles hopes he isn't.

"Why would I be?"  Derek genuinely questions.

"I _get off_ to you."  Stiles whispers.

"Stiles, if I worried about people touching themselves when they think about me, I'm in the wrong line of work."  He smiles.  "I'm kind of happy you like my art."

"Like doesn't even begin to measure how much I love your art."

"Oh."  Derek grins, and his eyes crinkle right up.  "I love your art too."

"Jesus!  Will you two just make out already."  Laura calls.

"Please do, the sexual tension is absolutely stifling."  Kira says, smiling up at Laura and she winks down at her.  The two of them are going to be terrifying.

Derek pulls Stiles' up from his seat, right into his arms.  He cradles a hand to Stiles' neck, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, the other resting on his waist, thumb dipping into Stiles' waistband with what might've been innocence it if wasn't for the smug smirk on his face.

Stiles throws his arms right around Derek's neck, erasing the smirk as he presses his lips to Derek's in a light kiss.  He pulls back, gazing with heavy lids into his eyes.  "Hi."

"Hey."  Derek smiles dazedly back at him.

The hostess interrupts their beautiful moment.  "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you folks to leave, you're creating a ruckus."  Laura turns the full strength of her glare on to her, and the woman meeps, fleeing.

"So how about that coffee?"  Stiles asks, still wrapped around Derek.

"How about lunch instead?"  Derek smiles.

"Sure, when and where?"

"How about now.  There's a great mom and pop place down the street from here.  It's much better than this multinational chain."

Stiles grins.

In the end the five of them are blacklisted from every IHop in LA, but it's so worth it.  The Belgian waffles are overrated anyways.

***

Stiles moans as he lifts up Derek's shirt.  "Oh god, you should never shave for a film again."  He runs his long fingers through the thick hair under Derek's belly button.  "Hi there, Mr. Happy Trail, take me to your leader."  Stiles mouths along the hair, unbuttoning Derek's pants, pulling down the zipper.  He reaches in, freeing Derek's cock from his underwear, and he hears his boyfriend inhale sharply.

"Doesn't that make you an alien?"  Derek manages through light moans.

"Would you prefer I wear antennae while I blow you?"  Stiles asks seriously, an eyebrow raised.  "Never knew you were into role play.  _Kinky_."

"Please, no costumes."  Derek begs before moaning wantonly as Stiles runs his tongue, flat, along the underside of his dick.

"I can't guarantee anything that boring in this relationship."  Stiles says in between sloppy licks.  "I have Captain Pike's Starfleet uniform hiding away in my closest, begging to have sexy things done to it."  Stiles really enjoys seeing him go cross-eyed at the imagery.  As it turns out Derek is a Trekkie.  

"Stiles, baby, please."  Derek begs, his hands gripping Stiles hair.  He cannot reiterate enough just how much he loves it when Derek tugs his hair.

Stiles pulls up, leaving just his hand gripping the shaft of Derek's cock.  "Hmm, what was that Derek?"

"Stop teasing me, asshole."  Derek grins wolfily down at him.

"Oh, I _know_ you like it."  Stiles says before he licks the head, and takes it in his mouth, sucking, running his tongue under the foreskin.  Derek _keens_. 

"So beautiful.  God, Stiles, you're so fucking beautiful, baby."  Stiles swallows Derek down as a reward for the praise.  He feels the head nudge the back of his throat, and Stiles suppresses his gag reflex as he takes Derek down, his throat working.

He bobs up and down a few more times before Derek tugs at his hair, warning him, but Stiles runs a soothing hand down Derek's thigh.  He comes with a cry, and Stiles swallows it down.

Derek collapses to his knees, bringing him down to Stiles' height.  He smiles at him.  "Hi."

"Hey."  Stiles pulls him in for a deep, involved kiss, before shoving him away, grinning.  "Now, go get 'em tiger." 

Stiles thinks his favourite video of Derek is his newest solo, where a glittering paste stone covered dildo rests on a plinth, right in his field of view.

 

**Outtake - Derek's POV**

"But what does it mean?"  Derek exclaims as he stares in wonder at Spark's new piece that Erica just delivered to him.  Hiring her as his art consultant was the best damned decision he's ever made.

"Derek c'mon I have a new scene to film."  Isaac calls out to him.  "I need some help with my pizza boy costume, Danny tore it in the last scene."

"Come here, and look at this Isaac."

"But Derek."  Isaac whines.

"It'll only be a second, I just want your quick opinion."

"Fiiine."  Isaac walks into Derek's office, stopping abruptly in the face of the huge encaustic taking up most of the space.  "What the hell is that monstrosity?!"

"Isn't it beautiful?"  Derek sighs in wonder.

"Suure."  Isaac looks at Derek incredulously.  He studies the painting, turning his head to the side.  "Huh.  It kind of looks like you."

"What?"  Derek turns his head the same way Isaac did.  "I don't see it." He bemoans.

Isaac points to the fuzzy black caterpillars.  "See, those are your eyebrows, and that,"  He points to the abstracted face.  "Is your face being eaten by your eyebrows."

Derek growls.  "Not funny."

Isaac throws his hands up in the air.  "Just giving you my honest opinion, man.  Now c'mon help me work the damned sewing machine."

Derek sighs.  "I'll be there in a second."

Isaac grumbles as he leaves Derek's office.


	3. Fan Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some art of Derek and Stiles getting down and dirty in front of the eyebrows painting because I love you guys so much.  
> Oh, and a sequel from Derek's POV is in the works, and I might post the first chapter tonight if I finish it.  
> It isn't a retelling of the same fic, but a continuation exploring their relationship :)

 

<http://iamonlydancing.tumblr.com/post/111395609227/fan-art-for-i-want-you-no-i-mean-your-art>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can someone tell me how to embed images into ao3? I cannot for the life of me figure out how.  
> Update: I figured it out! And it was so damned simple. I am an idiot!


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